


goin' down slow

by storytellingape



Category: Run (TV 2020), Slow - SNL sketch, The Science Room - SNL Sketch
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, One Night Stands, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/pseuds/storytellingape
Summary: It begins, like all problems in Billy’s life, when he meets a guy.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Billy Johnson/Ryan (Slow - SNL Sketch)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 257





	goin' down slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chifuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/gifts), [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> Billy is an asshole and has a bit of internalized homophobia. This fic was written for my enabling friends. (Love you guys!) No spoilers from the show itself but I wrote this before episode 5 and laughed because of the coat thing. There's a reference to another character Adam played in a segment just before the SNL Slow skit. His name is Zachary Adams from The Science Room. I hope you enjoy. :-)

* * *

It begins, like all problems in Billy’s life, when he meets a guy. He’s in New York promoting his second book, fresh off the plane from Illinois and raring to get fucking sloshed. 

There’s the itch again; it always comes back when he’s feeling like this: burned out and especially hating himself, sick with misery it’s almost debilitating. 

He finds the seediest gay club known to man, the kind that gets 1 star reviews on fucking Yelp and is a bonafide fire hazard. Forty minutes from his hotel because Billy doesn’t want people to recognize him. He’s famous enough that his name causes ripples on the internet and he can’t risk bad press so shortly after the release of his second book. People may forgive you for being an asshole or if you scam them out of their money—Billy knows this from experience—but they’ll always remember that one time you got horny and went to a gay club to get fucked. 

The story will haunt him for the rest of his life if word gets out, but Billy’s not a fucking queer is the thing. He likes women. He likes fucking them, but every now and then he gets these self-destructive episodes and nothing curbs the craving quite like a cock up the arse. Not drugs or alcohol, which isn’t even worth the self-loathing afterwards. Billy isn’t looking for a relationship with another man, God know men are the fucking worst. He just wants stupid, meaningless sex, the kind that makes him go deaf and dumb afterwards; the kind that knocks him out. It helps him sleep better than _Ambien_ or new-age nature CDs. 

Usually, it takes months of buildup to get to this point, but with Billy globetrotting and promoting his book, it only takes weeks before he’s thinking about it again: same shit, different city. At this point it’s a well-worn routine. People have their vices and this is his:

Billy likes going to gay clubs and getting fucked by strangers. 

This is how it begins.

Billy turns off his phone. He takes a cab downtown and pays in cash. He asks to be dropped off a few blocks from the club so he can walk the rest of the way there unperturbed: shoulders squared, jaw clenched, bracing himself against the cutting evening breeze. Then he pulls his hood over his ears and jams his hands in the pockets of his coat. New York in mid-autumn and the sidewalks are teeming with commuters all heading home for the night. Or maybe for some of them, like Billy, the night has just begun. 

Billy has a purpose, a mission. That’s what he likes about this whole damn city: everyone’s got a sense of direction. Sometimes Billy feels like he doesn’t, like he’s just running in endless circles, like a mouse on a wheel.

The club is dimly-lit, and the music is so awful that it’s actually perfect. Soon enough Billy is drunk on cheap tequila and giving it all he’s got on the dance floor. He hates house music but when you’re three sheets to the wind, you dance to anything, including _Abba_. Billy glances over his shoulder when he feels someone’s hands catch his waist, and he goes along with it because that’s what you do when you’re wasted and looking to score. He fights off the instinctual resistance and forces himself to relax into it, to let the discordant beat of techno music guide the rhythm of his movements. 

“Hey,” the guy behind him says. His breath smells like cheap cigarettes and whiskey sours. 

Billy squints at him through the strobe lights, trying to make out his features. 

The guy looks like a complete fucking arsehole, which just happens to be Billy’s type. Birds of a feather tend to attract one another but this guy’s a whole league of his own. He’s wearing a leather jacket in a packed fucking club like every inch of exposed skin isn’t covered in clammy sweat. He’s wearing jewelry too: chunky silver chains hang from his neck, along with a pair of gleaming dog tags. On his left wrist, over the cuff of his sleeve is a fake oversized Rolex.

Billy has to stop his lips from curling in disgust. He can do better than him but right now he doesn’t want to. Right now Billy’s prepared to go home with this guy, just seconds after feeling his big hands grip his hips and spin him around so they’re facing one another—chest to chest, hip to hip, breathing the same humid heat Billy can scent the stale cologne on his neck. He’s hot, so it’s not a total loss. Big, muscled, though Billy isn’t a big fan of the facial hair. Makes him look like a dick. 

The guy’s hands fall easily to Billy’s ass, squeezing hard, pulling Billy against him. Billy can feel the cock bulging through his jeans, and he presses back, grinding into the new position, grinning when their faces meet in a near-kiss. He likes how easy this almost is compared to previous times. It’s barely midnight, and he’s already hit the jackpot. Welcome to New York. 

“You new here? Never seen you before,” asks the guy, and Billy almost doesn’t hear him from the bass reverberating in his ankles and all the way up to his dick. His whole body is shaking: from the music, from how hot his skin feels. He wants to fuck. 

“I’m just visiting,” Billy yells over the noise. 

“Oh, a tourist.” The guy grins. “We don’t get a lot of those here.”

“Tourists?” Billy asks. 

The guy’s grin widens briefly, an almost-smirk. He doesn’t answer the question which is both annoying and kind of smooth at the same time, Billy can give him that.  
  
“Name’s Slow,” the guy says, before pulling Billy even closer so that their bodies line up perfectly. Billy is so hard, so ready for this to be happening that he’s sure he’s misheard the guy’s name. 

“What did you say your name was?” he asks, riding the guy’s thigh as the guy kneads his arse. Billy doesn’t care if people are watching; a good portion of the crowd is hooking up; they’re just doing what everyone else is. 

“Slow,” the guy says, voice a low, gravelly purr. He licks Billy’s ear with the flat of his tongue.

Billy squirms, either from the licking or how cheesy that came out, maybe both. “What? You serious? How’d you spell that?”

“Same as it sounds.”  
  
The guy shrugs one shoulder and Billy mulls it over for a few seconds before he decides that he doesn’t really care as long as the guy’s got a working cock and bends him over the nearest piece of furniture before the night is over. He’s not here to make friends. Some guy behind him bumps into him by accident, shoving Billy forward. He uses the forward momentum to throw his arms around Slow’s broad shoulders like this is prom and they’re slow dancing. 

“Billy,” Billy says because it’s a generic enough name and he doesn’t give a fuck.

Slow hums before dipping his head to whisper in his ear. “You wanna get out of here, Billy? Wanna have some fun?”

They pour themselves into a cab. Slow actually holds the door open for Billy to climb in first which Billy thinks is a total joke, and he tells Slow as much. Slow ignores him. Instead, he gives the cabbie his address. It’s in Brooklyn, one of the nicer neighborhoods which is even further away from Billy’s hotel. Good. Perfect. 

Once they hit the road, Slow’s hands are on him again and it dawns on Billy that that’s all they’ve been doing for the past fifteen minutes: groping each other, Slow’s hands grabbing his arse fondling the globes in his wide, capable palms. He hasn’t tried to kiss Billy yet, which is strange, but Billy’s not complaining. He enjoys the friction and responds to it by avidly running his hands along Slow’s chest. He’s built, my god is he built, like brick and stone, immovable and unyielding.  
  
Billy’s not worried about going home with a stranger because when push comes to shove he can always just run. That’s what he does best after all, tail between his legs. And most household items can be turned into a weapon in a pinch. Billy’s good at improvising. This isn’t his first rodeo.

Slow’s apartment is on the third floor of an old brownstone. Outside it looks like every hipster’s wet dream: there’s a bakery round the corner and trees line the street. Billy blinks for a good few seconds before huffing out a laugh. “You live here?”

Another shrug. So Slow is that rare breed after all: an arsehole with money.

His apartment looks deceptively normal except for the music instruments scattered here and there: a keyboard, a drum set and an actual trombone crammed in a corner. There’s a number of generic paintings hanging in the foyer, reprints from Ikea.  
  
Once the door clicks shut behind Billy, he’s expecting Slow to throw him around a bit, maybe pin him against the wall with his weight. Instead, he shows Billy to the living room where he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the pull-out sofa. He’s wearing a black singlet underneath: the muscles flex and bulge when he stretches his arms along the sofa, nodding at Billy to follow him, his legs indolently spread.

Billy swallows, a fresh wave of arousal hitting him like a punch. He’s never been strong, never been built, but he admires the trait in others. When he hunkers down next to Slow on the sofa, he runs a reverent finger down his chest, resting his hand on his flat stomach. Slow sucks in a deep breath, chest shuddering, then he grabs the back of Billy’s thighs and lifts him onto his lap.

“You’re really cute,” Slow says, still not kissing him, one hand cupping Billy’s arse, while the other slides up the back of Billy’s shirt to stroke his spine. Sometime in the fifteen minute cab ride to Park Slope, Billy had lost both his coat and his hoodie in rapid succession, and he mourns them briefly knowing he’ll never recover them. Fuck, that was a Burberry coat too. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He huffs and glances down at Slow who peers up at him curiously. Big brown eyes, almost sweet if it weren’t for the massive hard-on poking Billy in the thigh.  
  
“You really think so?” Billy asks. 

“Sure.” Slow takes a moment to stare at his face.  
  
It’s a bit too intense for Billy’s liking, so he forces out a chuckle.  
  
“I mean look at you,” Slow continues like that means anything at all. “What is that accent anyway?”

“Irish.”

Slow makes a face, nods knowingly. “Should have known. What with the hair and all.”

Billy chuckles—this time it’s sincere because he’s not expecting the open wonder coloring Slow’s tone. Now _that_ is actually sweet _._ _  
_ _  
_ He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He shouldn’t eat up all this fluff—he’s not here to flirt—but Slow seems intent on charming the pants right off him, even when every cell in Billy’s body is screaming for Slow to just put his cock inside him already.

“I wanna see where else you’re red,” Slow says, big nose nuzzling Billy’s neck, the back of his ear, stubble scraping the soft skin under Billy’s chin where he runs his chapped lips. 

Billy laughs. “Smooth.”

“Oh you’re smooth too?” Slow pulls back to give him a pleased look. 

“What? Fuck. No, I just meant—never mind,” Billy rolls his eyes, and then because he’s had enough of pussyfooting around, he says, “You want me to take off my trousers?”

Turns out, Slow does, and Billy wastes no time shimmying out of them. There has to be a better way to undress that looks enticing when your pants are made to hug every crevice of your body. Billy wriggles, squirms, rolls off Slow’s lap. Slow gives him room, banishing himself to the opposite end of the sofa when Billy almost smacks him in the face as he yanks his belt off and hurls it aside.

Billy drags the waistband of his jeans down along with his briefs, shaking them off his ankles and pulling his legs free. Then he makes himself comfortable on the cushions, propping his feet up on the seat, leaning his weight on his tailbone. He’s breathing hard; he’s still got his socks and his shirt on but his feet and chest are negligible and he never fucks completely naked. 

And there it is: the hunger darkening Slow’s eyes. Billy knows what he looks like to men like Slow, who are bigger than him, stronger: precious little twink doesn’t know what’s coming for him, biting off more than he can chew. _Ha_. Billy shifts on the cushions, lifting his arse up. He shaved his arsehole for this and he wishes Slow would just stop staring at him slack-jawed and get on with it. 

“Come on,” Billy says, and there’s a bit of a needy whine in it as he rolls his hips invitingly. “You eat arse?”

Slow gives him a look that tells Billy all he really needs to know: that he may look like a douchebag but he’s not stupid.

Slow snorts on the side of derisive and then kneels in front of Billy’s spread legs. When he leans forward, his dog tag touches the skin of Billy’s thigh, the metal cool and stinging. Billy hisses and swallows down the sound when Slow starts pulling apart the cheeks of his ass, holding him open with his thumbs so that he can lick inside with the reckless abandon that you can only really find with a one night stand. 

“Fuck,” Billy grits out, keeping his arm over his face so that he won’t have to see Slow’s. It feels good.  
  
He rolls his own tongue around his mouth, swallowing repeatedly on nothing, squirming at the insistent tickle of the tongue inside of him. His dick pushes out precome. Slow is a champion arse-eater: lodging runnels of spit directly into Billy’s hole and taking his sweet time teasing him open with his tongue.

Billy has never felt so open. Less than half of the guys he’s slept with cared whether he got off or not. They see Billy and his tiny arse and want to fuck him immediately, which half the time is what Billy wants anyway- But this, this is good too: the teasing, the waiting, the slow summer burn.  
  
His hole feels so wet. Slow is practically slobbering all over him, nuzzling the hang of his balls, his stubble scraping Billy’s skin raw and Billy goes crazy for it, kicking out his legs and grabbing Slow’s ears, riding Slow’s tongue till his toes start curling and his eyes roll back in their sockets. 

“Fuck!” Billy gasps. “Shit. Yeah—fuck yeah, eat my arse. _Fuck_.” 

Slow groans when Billy’s fingers tighten in his hair. Billy is making this feeble whining sound, and that makes Slow lap at him more meaningfully. His fingers rub slow concentric circles on the inside of Billy’s thighs, keeping them spread on either side of his ears, and Billy sobs from how good it feels, being eaten out like a feast.

Slow pulls back only to press his thumb against Billy’s clenching hole, dipping his finger in when Billy starts to relax. In, out, in, out, down to the knuckle to keep Billy on edge, and he holds himself there until Billy remembers how to breathe again. It’s so easy. There’s no resistance, and Billy finds himself making pleading noises while Slow works in and out of him with his thumb, leaving him trembling and leaking harder than before. 

“Shit,” Billy hisses. He hasn’t been able to form a coherent thought for the last ten minutes. There’s spit running down his thighs and his dick is so hard it feels like it’s about to fall off, but he doesn’t touch himself; he never does when he sleeps with men, preferring instead to be acted on. 

“Sounds like you needed that,” Slow tells him, rubbing his finger while his other hand strokes up Billy’s thigh.

“Needed what?” Billy snorts. “My arse eaten?”

Slow just smiles with one side of his mouth before licking the inside of Billy’s thigh, unscrewing his thumb from where it’s plugged up Billy’s hole. He gets up with a grunt and Billy waits for him to start stripping, too, but instead he just unzips and tugs his jeans down far enough to expose his cock. 

Billy moans at the sight; he doesn’t care how pathetic it sounds; the only thing that matters is that he was right all along: Slow is big, bigger than anyone he’s ever been with, his cock the stuff of pornos.  
  
Billy swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. He can take him. Billy isn’t an amateur. He can do this.

Slow rummages in the side table drawer for lube and a condom and Billy begs, his whole body pulsing, “Fuck me. Just please fuck me.” 

Slow lays a hand on Billy’s hip, just above the base of his spine, and the coolness of his palm makes Billy realize for the first time how flushed he is from head to toe. 

“Oh, baby,” says Slow. “We’re gonna take it slow tonight. Relax.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Billy says, slapping Slow’s hand away when he tries to touch Billy’s face. Slow raises his eyebrows at him but says nothing, stepping back instead and eyeing him in silent judgment.

Billy is breathing hard, nostrils flaring. “Fine,” he says, after a minute of back and forth staring, his cheeks as red as his hair.  
  
“If you won’t fuck me, then I want to suck your cock. Come over here,” he says, and Slow does, cautious at first and then yelping when Billy grabs him by the hips so he’s face to face with Slow’s cock. Up close it’s even more daunting: heavy and flushed with blood, the tip pearly with precome. 

Billy welcomes the challenge as he doesn’t do anything by halves. He has been able to deepthroat since the tender age of nineteen, when he went down on his biology professor during after school hours when he was supposed to be turning in homework. Mr Adams taught him everything from molecular biology to the physics of sucking another man’s cock and then taking his dick. He was Billy’s first everything, and last Billy heard he went on to be part of a science show on cable television, like a knock-off Bill Nye. 

Billy knows that he doesn’t look the type, because the look of surprise on Slow’s face when Billy swallows his thick cock all the way down is utterly delightful.

Slow slides his hands into Billy’s hair, disturbing the hour’s worth of work that Billy spent in front of the mirror that evening, and lets out a truly deep groan. That groan travels through Billy’s blood and makes his own cock harden even further. It makes him even more eager to take Slow in his mouth, to run his tongue over the veins of his cock, to suck and squeeze and put on the spectacular performance that he knows he’s capable of. He knows he’s good at this, and he smirks when Slow’s hips jerk forward when Billy squeezes the muscles of his throat around his length.

“Fuuuuck,” Slow grunts, his hips stuttering. 

Billy shoves them back, roughly, and almost gags when Slow’s dick goes down hard, spluttering when Slow pulls out in apology, his cock wet with Billy’s drool from root to tip.  
  
Slow gives his balls an unselfconscious squeeze. “Shit,” he says, “You all right? Was I too rough?”

“I can take it,” Billy assures him, despite the rasp in his voice and the itch in the back of his throat telling him that maybe, just maybe, he should slow down a bit. There are tears in his eyes and he blinks them back-it’s a purely physiological response from sucking too much cock and forgetting to breathe. Billy settles back on the cushions, tipping his head back and spreading his legs again, hoping he can entice Slow with the sight of his hole and get Slow to fuck him.

It seems to work because Slow starts licking his lips, his gaze fixed on Billy’s hole, before pivoting back to his face, sheepish. “You want it now?” he asks, as if there has ever been any doubt.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes, lolling his head and nodding. “Do it. Fuck me already. I’m so fucking ready for it I’m gonna fucking explode if you don’t take your cock out.”  
  
He laughs a little in spite of himself, licking a finger and daring to tease his own hole with the tip while Slow makes him wait and grabs the lube. Billy’s practically shaking from head to toe, circling his hole, stretching himself in increments but it’s not enough, it never is. He glances up when he hears Slow uncapping the lube.  
  
Slow drizzles a line directly onto Billy’s fluttering hole as soon as Billy pulls his finger out and exposes himself. The gel is cold but Slow is quick to warm it up with his own fingers, which while big and rough in places with callouses, build a soothing rhythm against Billy’s perineum. 

The first finger makes Billy shudder, the second one makes him feel _already_ full. His left leg kicks out on the third finger when Slow somehow manages to find his prostate, rubbing in tight circles that make Billy clench his teeth so hard his ears hurt. He laughs, delirious with the need to come by the time Slow stops fingering him like a coed. 

Slow rolls on a condom, squeezing himself at the base before slathering lube all over his condom-covered cock, then he lines himself up against Billy’s clenching hole that’s so open and so ready for his dick Billy is seeing stars the second the head pops through.

Billy keeps his thighs spread with his hands under his knees. Slow is only halfway inside of him and he already feels choked up, tears springing to his eyes anew as he wills himself to just take it. Because he can: every fat inch of it. He’s not a pussy.  
  
He whimpers when Slow bottoms out: it feels like a lifetime before Slow begins to move again, bracing himself on the back of the sofa as Billy tries to adjust to the sheer size of the cock stretching him wide in the deepest seat of him.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Slow warns as if Billy needs the blow by blow.  
  
Billy can only nod, widen the space between his knees, and lift up as Slow pushes inside of him, hard and rough and deep. Billy feels it down to his toes. He gasps and arches up against the slide of Slow’s cock, breaching him wide, so wide he’s gonna be so sore tomorrow and they’ve barely even started.

He chokes back another sound as Slow begins to settle into a rhythm, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort of fucking Billy. Billy turns his head and licks Slow’s forearm, tracing a bead of sweat as it travels down and all the while Slow pushes into him, pulls out, pushes in again, so steady and so goddamn slow Billy feels like a Victorian governess taking dick on her marriage bed.

It’s languorous at first, firm, the patience of Slow’s thrusts stirring Billy into a quiet frenzy. His back hurts from the angle, his feet are up in the air, bobbing each time Slow shoves in, but it’s a good angle for fucking because Slow hits his prostate every damn time, making him squirm and drool from how good it feels to take his dick.

Slow smirks down at him. “You like that?” he grunts. “Wiped that smug look off your face, didn’t it? Taking my cock. And you haven’t even come this entire time, have you?”

“What?” Billy says, annoyed by the talking. 

“You do this all the time? Let strangers take you home and fuck your pretty little ass?”

“First off,” Billy says, and then almost cries when Slow fucks in with the purpose of making him see stars.  
  
Billy whimpers and bites his lip. “First off,” he tries again, shuddering, glaring up at Slow. “You don’t know me, so stop making baseless assumptions.”

Slow just laughs, clearly amused, and then pistons in, going balls-deep and holding himself in place. Billy goes cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze without wanting to sigh. 

“What? Didn’t like that? I’ll stop doing it then but your cock seems to like it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I just wanna show you a good time and I’m the asshole?” Slow shakes his head. “They don’t make twinks like they used to anymore, do they? You’re kind of mean, you know?”

“I know,” Billy says, because it’s not the first time anyone’s said this about him. “I’m a motivational speaker; of course I’m a little full of myself.”

Slow hums in agreement and rolls his hips, shunting forward to make Billy gasp at the sudden stretch. “Right now you’re full of cock though,” he says, like it’s supposed to be funny. “So full of cock. Heh. Feel good?”

Bill levels him with a look of pure disdain. If it weren’t for the cock plugging up his ass, he would have kicked Slow in the groin. Repeatedly. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m getting a bit tired,” Slow confesses, because of course he was going to be too good to be true. He may be in possession of a big cock, the cock of Billy’s dreams in fact, but it just so happens that he’s also half of a disappointment in the sack, all bark and no bite. Shame, really, as Billy has so far been having a magnificent time. 

“I think you should just ride me,” Slow says, looking all too serious. Billy wonders if he’s pulling his leg. He’s not. Slow doesn’t even blink, waiting for him to respond. 

“ _The fuck._ Are you serious?” 

Billy groans when Slow pulls out all the way, leaving him open and gaping, his hole clenching on nothing but air. Billy shivers from the loss but barely has time to react when Slow picks him up in one smooth move, sweeping his legs from underneath Billy and ferrying him to the bedroom without breaking a sweat.

Slow elbows the door open, nudging the light switch with his elbow before setting Billy down on the bed: queen-sized, with black covers smelling like musty aftershave. Billy gets up on all fours, wriggling his arse, but Slow just eases himself on his back and pulls him onto his lap, grinding his hips up seekingly.

“Make yourself feel good,” he says, and Billy stares at him for a long moment, his heart pounding viciously.  
  
He’s never—he sleeps with men to _get fucked_. He’s never ridden anyone’s dick; that would make him an active participant and he couldn’t abide that. Because at the end of the day, Billy isn’t queer. This is just something he does to take the edge off.

Slow slides his hands up Billy’s hips and Billy swallows, hesitating. He’s acutely aware of the fact he’s grinding his teeth.

“Don’t be scared. We can take it slow, baby. Won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Now Billy may be many things—self-made, cocky, prone to twisting the truth to his advantage— but he’s not a coward. He never backs down from a challenge, because when he plays, he plays to win. He’s always been the type of person to want to have not only his cake but the whole damn banquet too. So he sucks in a breath and mans up, grabbing Slow’s dick to guide the head to his hole. He squats down to take Slow deeper and deeper until Slow’s balls are flush against Billy’s thighs and Billy’s own cock twitches with renewed arousal.

“There you go, that’s it,” Slow sighs, watching his cock disappear inside Billy. He drops his head back, his chest heaving a stuttered breath. “That’s it, baby, just take it all in.” 

Billy shudders, but doesn’t move, not until Slow grabs his ass cheeks and starts thrusting up into him with the same maddeningly slow pace that had Billy drooling earlier. The friction is rough, the rhythm uncoordinated and Billy is already dangerously close when Slow shifts his hand from Billy’s arse to his hip, before moving it to cover Billy’s dick and rewarding Billy with the gentle pressure of his fingers each time Billy humps down. 

Billy digs his fingers into those hard shoulders and lifts one knee, feeling Slow’s hand curl beneath his thigh, pulling their hips closer and fixing the angle, so that Billy can grind them together. 

“Babyface,” Slow groans. “Shit. You feel so good. Ride that dick, come on. Fuck yeah, you’re beautiful.”

Billy can personally do without the whole theatrical dialogue but he slams down because Slow is right: it does feel good like this, riding Slow’s dick like his life depended on it, like there’s no tomorrow and nothing exists but the wet friction of their bodies. The bed creaks under their clumsy rutting, Slow encouraging Billy with guttural grunts and pumping Billy’s dick in sync with the slap of their hips. 

“Fuck, yeah, fuck, fuck,” Billy pants above him. “Take it, take it, you piece of shit. Fucking slut.”

Billy doesn’t know who he’s referring to at this point: Slow or himself but it feels good talking nonsense and riding his hole over Slow’s dick until he gets used to the beautiful ache in his arse and the loud smacking of Slow’s balls against his thighs. Billy can feel himself about to climax, and mere seconds before he’s about to, Slow suddenly flips him over onto his back and slings Billy’s leg over one shoulder, fucking him like a piston. It doesn’t take long this way; it never does.

His hips jerk roughly until Billy comes all over them both, shuddering and swearing and tossing his head from side to side. 

“Shit, _motherfuck_ —shit—”

Slow lets out a hoarse groan before coming himself, riding out his orgasm with a few more jolting thrusts before slumping on top of Billy and crushing him with his weight, his hips twitching. He smells like sweat and aftershave and his hair tickles Billy’s collarbone, breath hot and wet against the skin.

Billy is too blissed out to complain but he nudges Slow off him when he stops being able to breathe comfortably. The guy is several weight classes above him after all, made of pure muscle. 

Slow chuckles, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of Billy’s neck that makes Billy scrunch up his face.  
  
“Sorry,” Slow mumbles, and rolls off Billy without further prompting. 

Billy steals a covert glance at him as Slow peels the condom off and ties it, flicking it carelessly at the trash can where it misses and hits the wall with an ugly splat. Then he shrugs off his singlet and kicks off his underwear so that he’s completely naked except for his gaudy jewelry, lying flat on his back with his dick at rest. His naked chest is a sight for sore eyes, strong with definition.

Slow is asleep within minutes, one arm flung over his face, mouth open. 

Billy rolls his eyes at him but then follows suit, burying his face in the sweaty pillows.

* * *

In the morning, Billy is woken up by the tinny beat of a mobile phone ringing. He comes to only slowly and gropes for his phone under the pillow, before he remembers that he turned it off and he’s not in his hotel room. He isn’t even wearing any pants, just socks and a t-shirt and his body twinges with the deep-seated ache of a night of good fucking. He finds Slow sat up next to him, his mole-flecked back facing Billy, mumbling sleepily into his mobile phone. He’s attractive even when his back is turned and now that the haze of alcohol has waned. Slow’s hair is all artfully mussed, compared to Billy’s which stick up in interesting directions in an impressive example of bedhead. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Slow is saying, scratching his ass and running the same hand through his hair. “I’ll be there in an hour. See ya.”

He ends the call and turns to find Billy watching him, his thoughtful expression morphing into a blinding grin. “Morning my Irish rose.”

“Oh fuck off,” Billy says, evading Slow’s attempts to kiss him by shoving him on the chest. Slow didn’t do it last night so there’d be no point in doing it now, especially when Billy is feeling less amorous.  
  
Knowing where Slow’s mouth had been only hours before doesn’t help either. And Billy can scent remnants of morning breath- he’s not keen on making out before either of them has gargled some mouthwash, no matter how tempting Slow’s mouth looks.

“Don’t ever call me that again, please. Gives me the heebie jeebies.”

Slow just shrugs, dropping his hand on the bed, expression somewhat dimmed but not completely deterred. “You want some coffee? I gotta head out in an hour but make yourself at home if you want.”

“I’ve got things to do as well but thanks for the offer.” Billy sits up and regrets it almost immediately. His arse is so fucking sore, he can still feel the phantom shape and weight of Slow’s dick inside him. He’ll feel him for days for sure; the guy is fucking _hung._

“This was nice,” Slow says, stroking Billy’s thigh on top of the covers. “We should do this again. You and me.”

“Sure,” Billy says, non-committal, because he knows he’ll be on a plane bound for Seattle by the end of the week. “But I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

He is, after all, a busy man. Always on the move because all forward motion counts. His book won’t promote itself. It’s been out barely a month. 

Slow hums, giving this some thought, and then strokes Billy’s thigh again absently. Billy noticed that about him: that he’s very tactile and can’t seem to stop touching any part of Billy within reach.  
  
“That’s too bad, then,” Slow says, after a moment. “We hit it off really well, I thought. But I’d still like to see you again. You in town for a while? I could show you around. Give you the full New York Experience.”

Billy looks at him and laughs. This guy is apparently as real as it gets. “What, that wasn’t the full New York Experience last night?”

Slow grins, and it’s actually rather charming even with the crooked teeth. Especially then. “Not yet. Just the tip,” he says, then adds, eyes crinkling in the corners“— _of the iceberg_.”

“Right,” says Billy. “Right, of course. Look, you’re sort of my type but I’m in town for business and I don’t know when I’ll be free again. But this was great. This was really _really_ great. And you were…” He gropes for a word. “Great.”

“At least give me your number,” Slow says, raising his eyebrows hopefully. “Come on. We had fun, didn’t we?”

Billy doesn’t expect to see Slow again, but then again, Billy really doesn’t expect most of the things that happen to him, despite his best efforts to always predict the unpredictable. He ends up giving Slow his number. His personal one, not his business number, the number of the phone he keeps with him at all times.

They fuck one last time because what the hell, Billy’s in town for only a week and he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They fuck in the shower with Slow holding Billy up against the slippery tile, making Billy momentarily forget about the ache in his arse because everything sort of just pales around you when you’re taking dick. Afterwards Billy takes a cab back to his hotel, working a crick in his neck with his knuckles and popping an Advil. 

His phone buzzes around lunchtime in the middle of a business meeting. He picks it up out of boredom. 

_Miss u already babyface ;-)_

It’s from some guy named Ryan.

“Wait,” Billy says out loud, huffing. “What the actual fuck. _His name was Ryan?”_

  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
